Another Chance at Life
by Butane Baby
Summary: After the tournament of power, a taunting specter hangs over Prince Vegeta's head as the Z-fighters give thanks for their lives. He draws on other sources of strength to weather conflicting emotions over abuses from his past. (One-shot story.)


**After finishing the story arc I considered what the emotional aftermath would be for the Briefs, especially with the new little one in their home. Vegeta and Bulma are pros at rising to the challenge, but some nightmares never seem to disappear.**

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Overjoyed friends and family swarmed Bulma and her new baby on the estate's patio. Everyone felt relieved that their universe and others survived the "tournament of power" that almost led to their erasure by Grand Zeno, supreme ruler of the multiverse and its gods, and his mighty cherubim.

Erased as if one never lived, with no hope of reincarnating or crossing over. A fate worse than death.

Bulma knew her husband couldn't care less about these existential ponderings for himself. Much like his fellow Saiyan, Son Goku, competition whet Vegeta's appetite to test boundaries, but hands down, saving his family took precedence. They had a new child - a new beginning. Vegeta absolutely would not accept anything that denied futures for his "little warrior clan," as his wife called them.

From that pain, the prince of all Saiyans drew strength.

After taking a prolonged, gruesome beating to buy Goku time to rest and rebuild his ki reserves, Vegeta then transferred his remaining power, hoping they still could win. Before losing consciousness, he visualized Bulma's radiant smile. Tears fell, and a loving apology crossed his lips. He couldn't end their ordeal in his way, but he gave as much as he could.

Goku sure knew how to pick a battle, Bulma thought. He escaped an angry expulsion from her home because, indeed, his calculus worked. Zeno would've erased Universe 7 anyway if the contest Goku suggested hadn't happened. In turn, the fighting wunderkind battled the multiverse's strongest warriors, to his great satisfaction. His friends and eldest son rose to fight alongside him.

And, once again, Goku surpassed his physical limits, achieving the "Ultra Instinct" transformation. For a mortal to reach this level was nothing short of extraordinary.

Vegeta also broke new barriers – outstandingly - and yet…

Clad in a stylish maternity jumpsuit, Bulma graciously nodded and smiled at her guests. She valued being the consummate hostess, no matter how tired. However, she hadn't moved once from her seat, not since tearfully embracing Vegeta when the fighters returned. Soon after, the prince quickly led her to their bedroom, where their infant daughter was sleeping peacefully.

Vegeta lifted their baby overhead. "Scream for your papa."

Bulma's laughter barely startled their now-alert daughter. Instead, the child squinted with interest. Papa's physical warmth and strong hands felt comforting.

"Vegeta, stop that."

The prince's deadly serious expression, accentuated by downturned brows and tightened chin, belied the true comedian inside. Being loved helped. After fighting for their lives, next to his wife, he safely held one of the most beautiful blue-eyed girls alive in his arms.

Tiny, curious fingers sought sensory stimulation within Vegeta's unruly black hair. Though part human, his daughter had inherited reflexes and baseline strength characteristic of Saiyan babies. Therefore, grabbing papa's hair held more significance. Her grip showed high potential, he thought.

"She's your daughter too," Vegeta continued. "I should know how long before Bulla's communication style matches yours. Maybe I'll ask your mother."

Bulma tapped her foot. "That's enough. Give her to me, you fool, before your _piquant_ body odor makes her cry. You should bathe. Set a good example for our son, at least."

Bouncing the cooing child on his chest, Vegeta paused. _I didn't do this with your brother at first. I couldn't imagine myself doing it back then, until… I taught him what I knew. He still believes in me. That part of him is all Bulma._

"I'm the only smelly person? First, Trunks will _never_ care about it. Remember, two weeks ago our dim-witted son slurped spoiled goat's milk, after that little shit Goten dared him. Second, your friends are dragging their sweaty selves all over our home. You should be used to it by now. We're all equals here."

"Whoa." Smiling, Bulma patted the bed for him to sit. "Hold on there, partner. Since when did my high-and-mighty, proud Saiyan prince become an egalitarian?"

Vegeta leaned down to kiss instead, eyes taking in her beauty. "We are equals in our visible condition, not… fighting talent."

He merely stated a hard fact, without a trace of arrogance. Despite their occasional dramatic flare-ups, the spouses were pragmatists. But Vegeta's response sounded so _conclusive_ , which Bulma intuitively noticed. She disliked it. Facts weren't automatic disqualifiers for improvement and success.

Vegeta's life testified to that.

"Well, yes, Vegeta, but…"

"She's hungry, I think." Avoiding longer conversation, the prince carefully placed Bulla into her mother's arms. "She's hungry, hmm? I need to shower."

Bulma unfastened her jumpsuit to breastfeed. "Well, you did wake her up. Now I have all the work."

With his back turned, Vegeta stopped at the bathroom door.

"I saw your face, Bulma, you know. I always do, when I'm unsure how a situation may turn, but this time your merciless demonic hallucination continued hollering at me to get up. I kept thinking, 'Does she see what this other fighter looks like?!'"

 _He's trying so hard. I never thought…_

Bulma's soft laughter muffled her crying. "Anything else you see, jackass?"

 **ooooXOXoooo**

Rather than argue with Bulma about resting herself, a thoroughly bathed, fresh-smelling Vegeta drifted toward the patio's west end to watch sunset. Now free of battle armor, gloves, and boots, he felt naked – blissfully naked. Others took their reverie for granted. Having battled nightmares, both real and imagined, Vegeta did not. His sanity had been a long-term construction site.

Bulma's eyes followed her husband's path while their friends dined and chatted. No one else noticed, but Vegeta knew. Bulma felt some relief as the enthusiastic imp sitting beside her took flight, despite maternal frustration over the boy's desperate avoidance of chores. But papa was back.

Trunks looked back at her sheepishly. She saluted and winked.

"Hey, papa. Can I hang out with you now? We don't have to turn on the night lamps. I like it dark."

Vegeta thumped his son's head. Trunks could've ducked, but his father was holding back anyway and the boy enjoyed the connection. Papa couldn't leave his sight. Not after today.

"Whose requests are you dodging? Mother? Aunts? Grandmother?"

Feeling welcomed, Trunks eagerly hopped into the recliner next to him. "All three."

A sudden urge to sleep hit Vegeta, who propped his feet on an ottoman. "Well, here's mine. Get your narrow ass back there and do your duty."

Ignoring the commands, Trunks removed his sneakers. "Whatever, man. You don't mean that."

With a lazy finger curl, Vegeta overturned the boy's seat. "Would you like to continue testing that unwise assumption? And you should have seen that coming."

"I guess so!" Laughing, Trunks rolled over a mound of cushions. "Sorry! Come on, stop giving me a hard time. Please?"

"That's my life's work until you're an adult," Vegeta replied. "Wouldn't trade it for anything, brat."

Trunks pointed at his arms and legs. "I know, papa. I have more bruises from your training than a decaying, maggot-infested banana to prove it."

Vegeta almost choked on his own laughter, catching them both by surprise. Trunks took pride in accomplishing a feat that few others could pull off flawlessly.

He jumped, pumping his fists upward. "Gotcha!" he shouted. "Gotcha! Gotcha!" He fell over laughing, again, until Vegeta grabbed his right leg. The prince held his son upside down, looking into his eyes. Trunks, however, would not be intimidated - not after his big win.

Vegeta couldn't let this rising teenager claim _his throne_ , though. Not yet.

"Look, you rotten fruit," he growled, "if you want to hear _my stories_ about the tournament, ever, then I suggest being less unbearable."

"Well, at least you're fully awake now," Trunks replied nonchalantly as his father released him. "Took long enough. Gravity room or Capsule Corporation's pool this evening? No one will care if we leave."

Vegeta observed the wind playfully buffet Trunks' thick lavender hair. _Where did all the time go?_ For a moment he wished Trunks would remain a kid another fifteen years. What would his long-dead Saiyan brethren, including his father, think about this nascent desire to "coddle" the boy at this age?

Then he wondered if King Vegeta felt similarly, before Frieza murdered him. His father's gamble changed the young prince's life forever, leaving the tyrant with a "smarter monkey" to corrupt and debase. But Vegeta didn't fear the putrid, evil stench from his former "caretaker" anymore.

Not for a long, long time. Never again.

"Neither," he replied quietly. "Not tonight, but I promise it's only us tomorrow, son." After wrapping an arm around Trunks' neck, the prince sighed. The boy resisted becoming too comfortable within their half-embrace, but Trunks recognized Vegeta had a lot on his mind. He wanted to help him.

"Papa, are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm serious."

"I am too, Trunks. Right here, at this moment, I am all right."

 **ooooXOXoooo**

Bulma had a gadget to meet almost every need. She created several - or perfected others, including an air scooter deployed for a search-and-rescue mission. Despite Bulla's easy birth, running marathons wasn't high on her list, let alone climbing a shaky ladder to sit beside her husband on a rooftop.

Vegeta frowned as the scooter sputtered next to him. "What the hell are you doing, woman? It's two a.m."

"Look," Bulma warned, "don't start with me, Vegeta. I _am not_ in the mood."

"I come here all the time," the prince replied irritably. "You're _picking_ a fight just by being here. You barely could move before bed last night."

"Are you going to help me down or not?"

"Not."

Vegeta snorted at her audacity. His legs returned to their elevated position, arms resting on top. Proper brooding required good posture.

"It's Frieza, isn't it? You know, I wanted _to kill_ Goku too for getting that disgusting creature released for the tournament with you guys…"

Vegeta looked up. "Stop, Bulma. Since you know what I'm thinking about, we've been together long enough for you to understand that I don't have words yet to discuss the worst of it. I'll be fine, eventually."

Bulma nodded, but she had no intention of leaving. No way. Friends told her how Goku and Frieza, along with Android 17, joined forces to take down their final, most volatile opponent at the tournament, Jiren, who had pummeled a weakened Vegeta within an inch of his life.

Goku and Frieza's fighting together was furious, terrifying, synchronized, and breathtakingly spectacular - and praiseworthy. Lines between friends and enemies blurred, but not enough for one observer.

"Am I permitted to sit next to you at least?"

Vegeta rose before Bulma insisted anything else. "No," he replied, stroking her face. "Let's go to bed. We've been out here long enough."

 **ooooXOXoooo**

Frieza had another chance at life, offered by Universe 7's god of destruction and angel overseer in thanks for his service. And while pleased by Beerus and Whis's generosity, he couldn't resist provoking the Saiyan who once betrayed him. Before leaving the team's landing site, he met Vegeta's hardened, icy glare with a sardonic smile.

 _You fought almost magnificently, monkey prince. But alas, I still get to rub my success in that adoring scowl plastered across your handsome face. Gads, Vegeta. How much more self-respect are you willing to sacrifice? Just look at you, carrying Goku's holier-than-thou piss water like a lovesick puppy! You think I don't see it? All of that crowing about a Saiyan royal's pride, wasted…_

Smirking, Vegeta casually leaned on an old tree that dwarfed them both. _Telepathy? You don't even have the balls to insult me out loud now? Oh, I forgot! Your mutant, freakish family doesn't have balls. Also, just between us, I understand my relationship to Kakarot a tad better than you. Like he and Whis said, you have another chance. Don't fuck it up._

This time Frieza laughed aloud. His long white tail swished. "You're lecturing me? I taught you everything you know. Your hands are just as bloody as mine, _Prince Vegeta_ , just like when I shot that _hole_ through your chest."

Feeling Vegeta's ki skyrocket, Goku swiftly stepped between them. Frieza sneered at the interruption, waving him off. He left shortly thereafter.

Goku held Vegeta's rage-fueled gaze. Blood trickled from one of the prince's closed fists.

Vegeta finally looked down, releasing a deep, anguished breath.

"You can't do this, Vegeta. Not here. Lord Beerus and Whis made their decision."

Vegeta thrust a hand in his face. "Don't tell me what the fuck to do, Kakarot! _Don't._ Frieza is dangerous and won't change, and all of you foolishly wait for more! You know what he did to me, and now I have a family! And that monster _dares to_ mock me? Trust me on this: He would have betrayed us at the tournament and joined another team if he sensed any weakness. The only reason why you fought that well together is he largely held back until the end - to save his ass. The rest of us did the hardest work. You _found_ strength to keep going."

"So have you, my friend. For years."

Crossing his arms, Vegeta turned away. "You realize I am more than strong enough to kill him alone, Kakarot. I was when his pitiful leftover scraps of an army resurrected him with the Dragon Balls. It was easy to kill the rest of them when they came after us."

"He knows that," Goku replied calmly. "Though Frieza still wants a death match with me for defeating him years ago, when we all first met, he actually fears you now... as he should."

Goku stepped back as friend Krillin approached the prince from behind. "Take this, Vegeta," he said, handing him a communicator. "Someone wants to speak with you."

The two fighters promptly left. Their oldest, dearest friend deserved privacy as her husband offered comfort. Vegeta bent forward against the ancient redwood tree, appreciating its calming, powerful, sturdy life force – much like his wife's.

"How are… our children?"

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 **END - Hope you enjoyed it. If you have chance, please take a moment to leave a comment. Thank you for reading!**


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